


A Love Engendering

by Foophile



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur looks his fill of her then descends, presses his full mouth all over her face, cupping her head in his calloused hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love Engendering

**Author's Note:**

> Merlin and it's related characters do not belong to me.

The first time is an accident. In so much as Arthur says that he “accidentally” bumps into her as she comes around a corner, when Gwen knows the Prince well enough to know that hanging around the servant’s wing is something he would never do without a purpose and that he’s possibly the most self aware being in Camelot. Bumping into anyone isn’t something that Arthur does unless he intended to do it in the first place.

But Arthur still doesn’t understand how much _she_ knows _him_ yet, so Gwen simply smiles as he puts her back on her feet and disregards the excuse. That is until he kisses her.

She retreats so hastily that she actually does bump into a pile of laundry, toppling it from a cupboard. “Sire!”

Arthur grimaces, looking around quickly before he’s pulling her along, down the hall and into a dusty broom closet before Gwen can gather her wits. It’s a sign of both his skill as a knight and his lack of knowledge about the bowels of his own castle, the speed in which he checks the room and wedges the door closed with a broom handle. This room is hardly ever used based on the smell of molding cleaning rags.

But Arthur’s face, dark and serious and intent, strikes her dumb and pins her right where the prince left her. He’s encircled her, tucked into her body so that the clean smell of him combined with the rush of adrenaline makes her dizzy.

Arthur looks his fill of her then descends, presses his full mouth all over her face, cupping her head in his calloused hands. There are so many objections but with his tongue teasing the lobe of her ear, she can’t manage to voice a single one.

So she surrenders and opens her mouth to him, kissing him back with as much desire as he shows for her because why should she deny herself?

His body is so hard and comfortably heavy. Gwen dares to touch him, stroking her fingers through his hair, running her hand down the long muscles of his neck then up and over his shoulders, and he encourages her with a deep moan.

His hand sinks into her skirts, finds the hem and pulls it up her legs. The feel of his hands on her legs makes her gasp, almost pull away in surprise but her body’s reaction, a flare of heat that she’s never before known keeps her there. She parts her legs a fraction, tucking one between his thighs.

“Yes,” Arthur groans. “Please, right there.”

Gwen breaks the kiss to lean back and watch his face. His eyes are heavily lidded and the abandon she sees there empowers her. Makes her _need_ so badly that she knows when she thinks back to this moment, she’ll be wracked with guilt.

But she kisses him again, presses her thigh where he wants her and rubs against him with equal vigor. Because even though she knows that as his father lives and breathes her heart will get her killed, she thinks of how she’s alone and how there is no one to tell her to stop, to think, and the absence is often times more than she can bear.

It isn’t until much later, when she’s lying on her small bed in her tiny house that she touches where Arthur rubbed her so boldly and thinks of nothing else but him.

The second time, Gwen thinks, as she tries not to groan from the feeling of his tongue on her neck, she does a better job than he did tracking him down. And she doesn't bother with excuses.

Arthur’s pushed her gown down her shoulders and left her on his bed, spread out over his sheets still fully clothed. He’s still in his nightshirt and trousers, the pillow creases still indenting his face and hair in bedraggled disarray.

Gwen had crept into his bedchamber in the earliest hours of the morning and apologized even though, when she looked at him, her body did not feel sorrowful in the slightest.

Arthur had simply blinked at her as if he thought she was a ghost then muttered, “I’ll take you anyway I can get you.”

She’d laughed. He’d kissed her and after a brief tussle now lays watching Arthur strip off his shirt and smooth her nightgown up her thighs.

He cups her like he did before, fingers heavy on the linen right between her legs, and Gwen moans quietly, driving him on. He rubs her firmly and watches rapt as she figures out how to work her hips to get him right where she needs him.

His eyes burn into her and Gwen reaches up to pull his mouth to her own. She can feel the evidence of his arousal on a thigh as his kisses turn feverish and wild. His loss of control makes her feel as powerful as it did before, but the pang in her chest, the fact that they still haven’t been clear with each other and she wants to much more haunts her more than the promise of her body exploding with bliss.

So she forces herself to stop and after a few seconds of inactivity on her part, Arthur catches up.

“I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons.” Gwen tells him without preamble. “I’m lonely and, frankly, I thought you were the last man in the world who would ever want me.”

Arthur is visibly stunned and confused. It takes a minute to respond with, “But I do.”

Gwen smiles. “And I love that. But don’t you think-,”

Arthur covers her mouth with a hand, apologizing with his eyes. “First of all, stop thinking. Second of all, the only thing you need to ask yourself is one thing: Do you want this?”

He takes his hand away and leans over her, giving her the space to roll away if she wishes.

Gwen doesn’t have to think about it. “Of course I want you.”

And Arthur, foolhardy and brave and thoughtful, shrugs, his blue eyes as sincere as she’s ever seen them. “Then I don’t really care about anything else.”

Gwen wants to ask if he’s serious even though she can tell from the stiffness in his shoulders that he is. She can see that he’s perceptive of her doubt, is willing to argue the point if she pushes, but as Arthur has yet to learn her as much as she’s been taught to study him (he’ll have time); Gwen surprises him once more with a kiss.

Maybe some foolhardy bravery could do her cautious heart some good.


End file.
